


One Mission

by starspangledmanwithaplan



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, F/M, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Injury, Injury Recovery, Medical Jargon, Near Death, Near Death Experiences, Reader-Insert, Reader-Interactive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-26
Updated: 2019-11-26
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:23:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21572836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspangledmanwithaplan/pseuds/starspangledmanwithaplan
Summary: You thought you could handle a mission on your own. You were wrong. So very wrong.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Female Reader, Steve Rogers/Reader, Steve Rogers/You
Comments: 10
Kudos: 165





	One Mission

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cevansgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cevansgirl/gifts).

> This one shot is written for @cevansgirl writing challenge on Tumblr.

Gritting your teeth, your shoulder slammed into the wall. "Son of a bitch," you shouted.

You pulled your hand away from your belly and almost passed out at the sight before you. Thick, red blood covered every inch of your skin, dripped off your nails, and down your forearm. It spilled down your legs and pooled at your feet. Great. You were officially fucked.

"Friday, send out an SOS with my coordinates."

"Of course, Agent Y/N."

You tried pushing away from the wall, but your body wasn’t cooperating. Instead, you turned around and slid down it, landing on your ass with a drawn-out moan.

"Agent Y/N," Friday said. "The nearest Avenger is Agent Rogers."

_ Shit _. Steve was going to lose his goddamn mind when he saw you. You were losing too much blood to care who it was that rescued you. You had no choice. It was Steve, or it was no one at all.

"How long?" Your tongue felt thick in your mouth, heavy, mead of lead instead of muscle.

"Two hours out." For an AI, she sounded rather compassionate.

It was getting harder to breathe now, the searing pain in your belly was beginning to fade, which was _ not _ a good sign, and time itself seemed to slow down. _ Fuck _. You tried to tell Friday that you didn’t have two hours, that you were going to die any minute now, but all that came out was a garbled mess.

Friday’s smooth voice drifted down a tunnel as she called your name.

Everything went black after that.

Steve was pretty sure he broke more than a dozen laws on his way to Y/N’s location, but he didn't fucking care. She was hurt, worse than hurt. He _ had _to save her. The entire trip, his heart was stuck in his throat, pounding with fear, making him feel like he was going to vomit.

Once he was inside the warehouse, he called out for her, not caring that the enemy could come looking; if any were still alive. _ Come on, Steve. Of course they didn't survive. This is Y/N! _ He made quick work of clearing one floor, then the next, and the next. By the time he reached the sixth floor, the fear burning in his gut was painful, bile rising in the back of his throat, a cold sweat covering his skin.

"Where the fuck is she, Friday?" Steve snarled.

"She is on this floor, sir."

"I don't see her!" It was suddenly too hot, too hard to breathe, and the shield was too heavy. He dropped it to the ground and ripped off his leather jacket.

"Agent Rogers," Friday yelled, sensing his distress. "Y/N is straight ahead, at the end of the hall."

Steve squinted in the dark, eyes darting back and forth, and that was when he saw her. She was a crumpled mess on the floor. He ran as fast as he could and it didn't feel like it was fast enough. Sliding in the pool of tacky blood, Steve dropped to his knees, not even feeling the bite of concrete through his jeans.

Her skin was ashen, mouth hung open, eyes glassy and unfocused. Steve choked on her name as he worked on finding a pulse, his hands shaking, vision blurring. The seconds passed like minutes, the minutes like hours and, just when he was about to fall back on his ass, he felt it; an extremely weak and thready pulse just below her jaw. He nearly burst out sobbing.

He wasn’t sure how he did it; stayed cool enough to carry her and his shield to the jet, then haul ass back to the compound. He didn't even break when he was swarmed by medical personnel asking a thousand questions. He held himself together when Bucky ran up, eyes wide with panic. He didn’t even break when Wanda sat next to him and said in her soft-voiced accent, "Everything will be ok, Steve."

It happened when he was alone in the hall, sitting in a chair, elbows on his knees, head and shoulders bowed. The blood on his hands had snuck into every crack and crevice, under his nails, staining the dark blonde hairs on his knuckles. His clothes were stiff, rust-colored, and smelled like old copper. That was when the tears fell. Heaving sobs burst out of him, shoulders shaking, lungs and ribs aching, head pulsing. 

He couldn’t lose her. Not now.

They tried to tell Steve to get some sleep and eat, that there was nothing he could do but wait. Well then, he'd stay right there and fucking wait, because he wasn’t leaving. The days blurred together and Steve lost track of how long she was unconscious for or how many times she coded, a long, flat tone emitting from the machine to her right. 

Steve had seen many people die over time, but watching _ her _die again and again and again was the worst thing he’d ever seen. It even topped when Bucky fell off the train seventy-some years ago. But Y/N was a fighter, the strongest person he knew, and she came back every time. 

Then why was it taking her so damn long to wake up? 

Your lids felt almost as heavy as the rest of your body, as if there was this giant weight atop you, crushing you, smothering you. There was something stuck in your throat and no matter what you did, it wouldn't budge. Panic took hold and you pushed your head back into the pillow, and began gagging. _ Fuck _, it hurt like hell. Pain exploded in your chest and panic clawed at you, razor sharp, shredding your common sense.

"Y/N, calm down, okay? I need you to calm down,” said the blur of white and powder blue to your left.

_ Calm down? _ How the fuck were you supposed to calm down? Your eyes flew open and you tried grabbing at the obstruction in your mouth to pull it out, but strong hands stopped you, holding them against your sides.

Bright blue eyes that you had dreamed about were in front of you. "I got you. I'm here."

With your heart hammering in your chest, you listened to Steve and stopped fighting. Apart from the catastrophic mission you narrowly avoided dying on, having a breathing tube removed was probably the most painful thing you had ever felt. It felt like you had swallowed a thousand sharp razor blades and then drank some lemon juice.

After drinking no less than a gallon of water and getting a status update, it was just you and Steve in the room. You were sitting up with a notepad and pen on your lap, and Steve was standing at the edge of the bed, arms crossed, looking anywhere but directly at you.

You scribbled _ what's the matter _ on the paper and then snapped to get his attention.

With a sigh, he looked up, but only at the paper. Shaking his head, he pushed away from the bed and stormed out of the room. You wanted to call out, hell, you even tried to, but that just resulted in you crying in pain. You drank more water and pushed the button that would make the pain disappear.

Steve couldn’t bring himself to tell her what was really going on with him; that he was petrified that she almost died _ for real _, that living without her was scarier than anything he had ever faced before. He wanted to. God, how he wanted to. 

Instead, he walked out of her room and straight to his. He landed on his bed with a groan and covered his eyes with his forearm. He was exhausted and he suddenly hated himself so much for walking out when all he wanted to do was tell Y/N how much he cared for her. He was so lost inside his own head that he didn’t remember falling asleep.

It was a loud banging on his door that woke him up. Steve stood, rubbing at eyes that ached, and pulled open the door, mumbling something about _ just falling asleep _.

"Tell me something, Steve. Why is Y/N asking me what's wrong with you." Bucky held out his cell phone as technological proof; a series of text messages from Y/N.

Steve eyed the messages before arching a brow at his best friend. "What’d you tell her?"

"That you’re a fucking idiot."

"Jerk," Steve scoffed.

"And you’re a fucking punk."

Rolling his eyes, Steve tried to shut the door, but Bucky’s metal hand slapped against it, cracking the wood slightly. "Get your ass down there and tell her how you feel."

"Tell me, Buck, how do I feel?" Steve asked sardonically.

Fighting the urge to grab Steve by the scruff of his neck and haul him down to Y/N’s hospital room, Bucky growled. "You love her, man. It’s not like we all can't see it."

“I don’t love her,” he denied, another rolling of his eyes. “I care about her. That’s different.”

“**Call it what you want, but you know I'm right**,” Bucky shot back. 

Steve sighed, dragging a hand over his face. "But what if-"

"You almost lost her, man, there is no ‘what if’ anymore. Tell her. Now."

You were kicking Tony’s ass in Words With Friends when someone cleared their throat. Steve gave a shy smile as he came around your bed, hands in his pockets. Clenching your jaw, you turned your attention back to the game and worked _ extra hard _ at ignoring Steve, just as he had ignored you. Not that he made it easy. He said your name, called you doll, rested his hand on your knee, squeezed it gently.

"I'm sorry for leaving, Y/N. I shouldn’t have." That got your attention.

You turned off your phone and placed on the table, then you grabbed the notepad and shoved it in his face. _ What's the matter? _

Steve's eyes fell and he shook his head. You were afraid he was going to walk out again, so you hit him in the head with the notepad. When he looked up, you were writing a threat on the yellow paper. 

_ I swear, if you don't answer me, I'm gonna fucking kick- _

His hand was on yours, silencing the scratching pen-tip. “Y/N, I _ watched _ you die. You flat-lined _ multiple _times before stabilizing, and I was there for every single one of them. I watched through that window,” his finger thrust out, “as they breathed air into your lungs, as they compressed your heart, as they shocked your heart into rhythm."

Tears burned your eyes and you opened your mouth on instinct, but Steve kept talking. "I can't lose you again. I just… I can't." He was crying then, ice blue eyes that had a smidge of green in them shone as they bore into yours.

You grabbed his damp face and ran your thumbs through the tears. When he covered your hands with his and leaned into your touch, his eyes fluttering closed, a stuttering sigh leaving him, your already thundering heart skipped a beat. Or three. It was now or never. Voice or no voice. _ Tell him how you really feel. Do it _!

"I love you, Steve," you croaked.

Steve's eyes flew open and he was smiling that half-smile that made him look so much younger. "I love you, too. Always have, doll." He pushed off the chair and kissed you.


End file.
